


thinking back, thinking of you

by learnthemusic



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1198428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learnthemusic/pseuds/learnthemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hallie Kate's laugh is tinkly and kind of forced. It sounds exactly like Jesse's did the last time they spoke, when he wanted to convince Andrew that everything was fine. </p><p>(companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/173611">we can rewrite history</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	thinking back, thinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> Adding old stuff from LJ because I wanted to wallow in how I used to be able to write...
> 
> April 2011: I was hesitant to post this because it's out of context again but, shit, after writing almost 6,000 words of comment fic in the 'verse, I feel like this should reach more people. Title from "Dakota" by Stereophonics, which was the song that came up in response to yellowwolf5's request. Only extra info you need to know is that Andrew and Jesse go to the same college but Andrew's in London for a theater program. Things are tough.

No one can say he didn't try. No one can tell him that he should've fought harder or that he shouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer. No one can say he didn't state his case over and over until he could barely talk.  
  
Andrew did all of those things and now he's here, sitting at a pub in London, avoiding all the members of his company, drowning his sorrows in mugs of beer. Jesse hasn't talked to him in almost three weeks, since Andrew left after the semester break. It'll be Valentine's Day soon and even though they weren't going to be able to spend it together this year, they could've at least Skyped or something – if Andrew hadn't somehow screwed up over the holidays, if he hadn't somehow made Jesse think that he didn't want their relationship to continue anymore, just because he was in this London program for a school year and was away from home four months at a time. He's spent a lot of time trying to figure out what he said that made Jesse believe in such a preposterous thing but he can't remember a single instance where he might have suggested a breakup would be good. In fact, he's pretty sure he did everything he could over the break to convince Jesse that they could make it through this but Jesse didn't want to listen.  
  
And now he's moping, staring at his beer and remembering all the random things they did when they figured out what being drunk felt like. That summer before senior year, when everything between them was still new and fragile, when sneaking alcohol out of their parents' liquor cabinets was the best way to spend the weekend. Some of those nights, they'd drive out to the lake and pitch the tent they'd bought from Wal-Mart a year before. Instead of sleeping in separate bags like they used to, they'd zip both of theirs together and huddle closely, arms thrown around each other to keep warm, breaths mingling hotly between them when they'd been making out so long they could barely gasp for air. There were other nights too, unseasonably chilly ones when they'd get Andrew's older brother, who was home from Princeton for the summer, to buy them wine and they'd light up the fireplace in Jesse's living room. They were in charge of watching Hallie Kate and, once she was sleeping, they went downstairs and tried to watch movies. But instead of paying attention, considerably intoxicated by both the wine and the smoke, they'd end up shamelessly rubbing against each other on the floor, hidden by the coffee table in case Hallie woke up.  
  
So many memories and so much alcohol and Andrew's an ocean away from New Jersey, trying really hard not to picture Jesse in the library, studying his history books under the lamp stuck to the table, color-coding with highlighters to his heart's content. Andrew's failing miserably at this task. He's failing so badly that he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and dials Jesse's number, doesn't even have the patience to look through his contacts list.  
  
The phone rings two and a half times – a brief moment of silence when the call connects and Andrew can make out the sound of Jesse's breathing, but then the call ends and he's been hung up on. He almost hurls his phone over the bar but he forces himself not to, just in case Jesse might change his mind and call him back.  
  
***  
  
Sleeping was a luxury for Andrew way before he and Jesse broke up (that still feels weird to think, even though he hasn't admitted it out loud; he's between denial and acceptance, still grieving like a widow, thinking that maybe if he doesn't give voice to it, it won't really be true) and it's even more of a luxury now that he can't sleep at all. It used to be that he'd take every spare chance he had to power nap between classes or between rehearsals – because being in this conservatory has fucked with his schedules since day one and it's like he's experiencing constant jet lag – but now all he can do during those quiet moments is stare at the ceiling, wishing he could close his eyes and drift off without nagging thoughts anchoring him to reality.  
  
For almost two months, Andrew Garfield has been nothing but a zombie. He's not failing his classes yet and he hasn't been canned from playing Mark Antony in their final production because he's some kind of theatrical genius who can perform his best on little rest – but classes and rehearsals are the only things he participates in now. Sometimes he'll accompany his cast mates to a club or to a pub but mostly he just stays home with his grandmother, who at least makes him eat and talk every once in a while. The amount of concentration he musters for schoolwork is so little that he'll often nod off in the middle of a text. If he tries to actually go to sleep, though, he's plagued again with this despicable agony he can't shake and rolls around restlessly for the rest of the night. He usually just ends up at a café in the early hours of the morning, downing a few cups of coffee while poring over his playbook and forcing himself not to remember those mornings he and Jesse spent in total silence at breakfast while they studied for finals.  
  
***  
  
It's not like Andrew hasn't tried to talk to Jesse. He actually has; he's made so many efforts that he can't even keep track of them anymore. Sometimes his attempts are so automatic that he doesn't even realize he's calling until the phone is ringing obnoxiously in his ear.  
  
Jesse never answers. Andrew sends him an email a day for two weeks and he never gets a response. Granted, the emails aren't very descriptive. They're variations on _Worked some more on this play and let me tell you, Jess, I'm so in over my head with this role_ , _I don't even know how I'm going to pull it off on stage, I really don't_ and _Please tell me how everything is going back home, I really miss you and I am so sorry, Jesse. You don't understand how much it's hurting me to know that I even made you think I didn't want to be with you anymore. Anyone would have to be crazy to say such a thing, don't you get that? I must have been really off my rocker_ and he doesn't really expect much in return. A _Yeah, everything is fine_ would suffice but he doesn't even get a blank email in his inbox from Jesse. All he gets there is from Amazon, Priceline and Facebook and he sort of wants to stop checking altogether.  
  
Instead, he tones down his messaging to every other day and then to every two days until he's only sending an email once a week. It doesn't help things.  
  
All the voice messages he leaves go unanswered. No matter how much he pleads for Jesse to call him back, he never gets a call. Sure, there's the whole issue with exorbitant international calling fees, but Jesse didn't seem to mind them before, he shouldn't mind them now.  
  
Clearly responses are too much to ask for. Soon after Valentine's Day, Andrew stops it all.  
  
***  
  
At midnight on the first of March, Andrew calls Hallie cell phone. As much as he complains about today's generation being way too technologically advanced and extremely deprived of the joys of playing games outside, he's glad he can talk to her without having to go through Mr. or Mrs. Eisenberg. He’s not sure he could take hearing their voices very well, not when they probably hate him for supposedly breaking up with their son.  
  
Soon as Hallie answers on the third ring, Andrew blurts, "Hal, it's so good to hear your voice!"  
  
"Andrew? Is that you?" There's the unmistakable sound of the door closing in the background.  
  
He has never been more grateful for an intelligent thirteen-year-old in his life. "Yes, it is! How are you?"  
  
"Oh, I'm hanging in there." Her laugh is tinkly and kind of forced. It sounds exactly like Jesse's did the last time they spoke, when he wanted to convince Andrew that everything was fine. "I'm having a real easy go of it in school. How about you? How's London?"  
  
"I'm glad to hear that. London is . . . actually kind of fabulous. I've got this extravagant role and it's driving me bonkers but I love it."  
  
"That's really good, Andrew!"  
  
Andrew plops himself down on the edge of his bed and holds his face with one hand. He digs his nails so far into his jaw he can feel the crescent-shaped grooves forming in his skin. "Yeah, I think so. Well, hey, how is everyone doing? I haven't heard from you guys in ages."  
  
"Oh, um." Hallie's voice goes lower and he can tell right off the bat that she's already been sworn to secrecy. Jesse's probably turned everyone against him – not that Jesse would actually be callous that way, at least he doesn't think he would. "We're good. Kerry's asked about you but I haven't been able to tell her anything since I haven't heard from you in so long. I'm glad you called, so I could let her know you're doing well."  
  
Andrew inhales deeply and bites his lip. "How about your parents?"  
  
"They're good too."  
  
"And . . ."  
  
"I don't know that much about Jesse, Andrew."  
  
Nodding to himself, he slips his hand into his hair and closes his eyes, tugs as hard as he can without making a noise.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just that he said –"  
  
"I can imagine what he said."  
  
Hallie sighs, "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now but you sound like you could use a friend, so I will."  
  
"I appreciate that, Hal."  
  
"But I can't tell you anything specific about him because he's supposed to donate his next paycheck to the animal shelter if I don't make contact with you and I promised –"  
  
"Paycheck?" Andrew sits up straight again and wrinkles his brow. "Is he working now?"  
  
"Oh. Um, yeah. At the main library a few nights a week. I wasn't supposed to tell you."  
  
In a rush of words, Andrew tells her, "It's ok! He won't find out," and even makes hand gestures to reassure her, as if she's even there. He's stooped so low he doesn't even feel stupid for it. "I haven't talked to him in so long that I'm starting to believe I won't ever have the chance to ask him about it anyway."  
  
"I'm sorry, Andrew. If it makes you feel any better, we all miss you. Here at home, anyway. Jesse hasn't really been around much for me to tell you anything about him but he's not exactly his usual self."  
  
Sighing, Andrew rubs his hand over his mouth and wonders why, if he's so very distraught by all of this bullshit, he can't even be selfishly glad that Jesse's not the happiest of people without him around either. The last thing he wants is for Jesse to feel miserable; he probably would have been a little happier to know that Jesse's doing well and is moving on effortlessly.  
  
"I should probably go now, Andrew. This is an international call after all. I don't want my parents taking away my phone or anything. I mean, I just got it back after a week!"  
  
"No, yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. It's just . . . You're my only tie now, you understand?"  
  
"I do. I'm sorry, Andrew," she repeats. Andrew actually believes her. "Bye."  
  
***  
  
A few days later, Andrew leaves Jesse a voicemail and his call is almost immediately returned. He experiences three seconds of terror and hope at the same time and then an unrecognizable male voice tells him, "Look, man, I got your message and I wanted to tell you I'm not the Jess you're looking for. You must have the wrong number."  
  
Andrew deflates and leans back all the way against the tree he's camped under for the evening. "Oh. Oh, dear, I am so sorry, you don't deserve such –"  
  
"Hey, no, it's ok. I'm actually more upset that you're going through whatever it is with your girlfriend than I am for you leaving that message on my phone. Honestly, I feel bad for listening to it. You're obviously in a bad place, which I'm sorry about. Man to man, you know. I know what you're going through."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And I can tell you from experience that it will get better. This girl Jess is not worth your heartache, kid. I promise you that. You deserve better."  
  
His chest gets all tight and he can barely get out a faint "thank you" let alone a full argument for why this man's wrong. But he appreciates the gesture, appreciates that there are people kind enough in this world to offer advice to a stranger.  
  
"Believe me, there's nothing you need to thank me for. Good luck, kid."  
  
When his phone beeps to indicate the end of the call, Andrew can't muster the energy to pull it away from his ear. He remains frozen, staring into the distance, unable to believe that after at least five and a half years, Jesse's finally changed his phone number.  
  
***  
  
"Andrew fucking Garfield!"  
  
It's hard to keep a smile off his face when Justin greets him like that. Much as he sometimes hates him for being such a terrible first roommate, he can't fail to appreciate his peculiar sense of humor. "Timberlake, hey," he says, a note of happiness in his voice that he hasn't heard in a while.  
  
The things Justin does to him.  
  
"Shit, man, I haven't heard from you in years! How's it goin' in the UK?"  
  
"Oh, it's all right. Could be better."  
  
"Find any hot girls?"  
  
"Justin, I –"  
  
"Right, right, you're holding out for Jesse. I get it. I should tell you, though, that's not a really good idea."  
  
The bottom drops out of Andrew's stomach. He has to lean against the wall of the study to catch his breath before he can ask, "Why not?"  
  
"Haven't you heard?"  
  
"Heard what, exactly?"  
  
"Oh. Well, I guess I shouldn't tell you if you don't know . . ."  
  
"Spit it out, Timberlake."  
  
"Ok, ok. Don't, like, punch me for what I'm about to say, ok? Don't shoot the messenger."  
  
Andrew pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm in London. I can't."  
  
A few moments pass before Justin continues. "I know you guys broke up and it shouldn't matter anymore what Jesse does or doesn't do, but I don't know. I feel like you should know. So, he's been on a few dates with this chick named Anna. She doesn't really seem like his type, to be honest, but I've seen them around. Not lately, though. He may have gotten rid of her."  
  
Yeah, that would probably make a lot of sense, Andrew figures at first. It's Jesse, after all, smart, sweet, beautiful Jesse. Anyone would be lucky to have him, like he once did before some kind of misunderstanding broke them up. He should be ok with this.  
  
But Andrew’s knees buckle anyway and he finds that he doesn't have enough strength to keep standing. He sinks to the floor, draws his knees up and lays his forehead against them. He draws in sharp, ragged breaths and wills himself not to start crying when Justin's still on the phone and his grandmother's sleeping upstairs. There's a sob, though, lodged in his throat, that he has no choice but to let go, and he hates himself for allowing Justin to witness so much of his weakness in just a few seconds.  
  
"Andrew? Hey, look – Shit, I knew I shouldn't have – Andrew, listen, they're not together! It was just a go-on-a-couple-dates-and-see-what-the-single-life-is-like kind of deal, I swear!"  
  
Whispering, "That can't be true," Andrew focuses on deep inhales and slow exhales, in, out, in, out, just like his instructors have taught him to do whenever he's nervous before a scene or when he needs to be able to project his voice across a large auditorium. It's working for this too. "Jesse isn't like that."  
  
"He's so hung up on you, it's ridiculous, man. You should see him. Or actually, I should see him. He never even comes out anymore. Sometimes I catch him riding his bicycle across campus but it seems like he only ever comes out to go to class or go to the library, where he's working now. Those few times he was with that Anna girl a month ago, it wasn't even anything big. He told me they were just friends and they were going to get dinner together or something. I mean, at the time it didn't look platonic, but maybe she's just an over-affectionate bimbo who's –"  
  
"I appreciate the effort, ok?" Andrew interrupts, finding enough oxygen in his lungs to be able to enunciate his words clearly. "But it's not necessary."  
  
"Andrew, come on."  
  
"No, no. It's really not." He bangs his forehead against his knees twice. "Thanks for talking to me, Justin," he says, and then he hangs up and he can't stop the floodgates opening.  
  
***  
  
He finds Jesse's new number in the online student directory and he calls it from a kiosk outside his grandmother's house at midnight, although he should be inside trying to rest. It's been a few days since he's even had a few hours of sleep and he's running on fumes now, this first full week of March, hoping he'll finally get through to Jesse. This calling card, he hopes, will at least convince Jesse that the unknown number is American and thus friendly fire.  
  
The phone rings for a seemingly long time. Every beep is a reason for why he should just stop trying but he can't make himself listen. He can't give up when he hasn't tried everything in his power yet. This just has to work.  
  
Finally, on the seventh ring, the call connects and it's not the automated voice message system greeting him this time. It's actually Jesse, quiet, breathless Jesse, saying "hello?" on the other side. Andrew's so stumped to hear Jesse's voice for the first time in months that he can't articulate any words. He just breathes. Jesse says again, "Are you there?" and Andrew startles.  
  
"I'm here," he blurts, immediately wishing he could take it back. "Sorry."  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
Andrew closes his eyes and clears his throat. "It's Andrew," he says, really slowly, trying to make this phone call longer, even by just a second, so he can listen to Jesse breathe long enough to be able to at least recall the rhythm of his voice. He's pretty much convinced Jesse will end the call in three seconds but he asks anyway, "Will you please refrain from hanging up on me? Just this once?"  
  
Jesse exhales loudly and it makes a racket through the line but Andrew doesn't even care as long as there's a Jesse on the other end for once. "How did you get this number? Did Justin give it to you?"  
  
"No! No, I – I checked the, uh, the, um, student directory, you know, it's kind of useful."  
  
"Oh, I bet."  
  
Andrew whispers, "Jesse," and is about to start in on a long tirade about how miserable and lost he's been since they were last able to speak when Jesse cuts him off.  
  
"I can't talk to you, Andrew, I'm busy. I – look, I just can't right now."  
  
"Well, if not now when, Jess? It's been months since we even –"  
  
"I know. I know it's been a long time but I think it's good that we've had this – this, like, time apart. It's, um, doing us some favors, I think."  
  
Andrew shakes his head. This breakup has caused him nothing but constant sadness and anger and he just wants it all to stop. "Jesse, we need to talk."  
  
"Isn't it midnight over there? Shouldn't you be in bed or studying or running lines? Don't you have a play in a few weeks? You shouldn't be wasting your time on me, ok?" Jesse sounds exasperated but it's slightly unconvincing. Andrew's had enough time to learn Jesse's manner of speaking and this tone he's using right now, high-pitched and breathy, is the one he uses to fake nonchalance. It's plain how much he doesn't believe what he's saying.  
  
"You're so full of shit, Jesse," he says, and he's actually really surprised he says it as calmly as he does. What surprises him most, though, is that Jesse gasps but he doesn't hang up the phone. "No, yeah, that's right. You're full of shit. I've never wasted my time on you. I don't know where you got the idea that I didn't want to be with you anymore because I'm certain I didn't give it to you." He takes a deep breath. "I hate feeling this way, Jesse. Like I can't do right by you and I can't fix whatever's gone wrong. You've avoided me since I left for the semester and no matter how much I try to talk to you, you don't respond. I can't – I can't do this forever."  
  
Jesse's voice wavers when he says, "You shouldn't have to."  
  
"I shouldn't but I will. Because you're – fuck, Jesse, you're everything to me. I don't know what I did but I promise you that I didn't ever mean to hurt you."  
  
The line goes silent for a full minute. Andrew counts the seconds and realizes with every ten he reaches that more and more air is being sucked out of this kiosk, as if there's a vacuum wrapped around all the cracks in the walls.  
  
"I have to go to work, Andrew," Jesse finally says, words quiet and measured.  
  
Sighing, "Jesse, please," Andrew puts a hand over his eyes and digs into the sockets with his forefinger and thumb. He's tired of crying; he has to stop tears from forming.  
  
"But I'm going to call you back, ok? I'll, um. Your cell phone, I'll call it in two hours, after my shift. I, yeah, that should be right."  
  
He freezes. "Do you mean that?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. Listen, I'm late. I'll talk to you soon, ok?"  
  
"All right, all right. Bye."  
  
When Andrew gets back inside, he flops down on his bed and covers his face with his pillow. He's crying silently into it when his phone rings fifteen minutes later and he scrambles to pick it up anyway, completely disregarding how messy things could get if his tears fly everywhere. A text message pops up on his screen from Jesse's new number that says _Two hours, I swear_. It's the best thing Andrew's ever read.  
  
***  
  
The clock flips to two o'clock and Andrew immediately grabs his phone off the nightstand and stares at it, willing it to ring. Five minutes pass and the screen doesn't even light up. He feels like his gut's been kicked in, like spending the last two hours alternating between hyperventilation and excitement was a complete waste of time. It makes him sick to think that he's so wrapped around Jesse's finger that he believed he'd actually call back. Jesse's a pretty good liar, sure, but Andrew never thought he'd use his masterful skills of deception on _him_ of all people, someone he's never had to lie to before.  
  
But the longer Andrew lies on his bed, waiting for the phone to ring, the more convinced he becomes that he's been duped, that he's fallen victim to Jesse's games. The worse part about it is that he can't even get out. He considers turning his phone off and forcing himself to sleep but something stops him and makes him set it down on his chest instead so he can wait patiently for a call that might never come.  
  
Thirty minutes later, he's drifting off and its shrill ring brings him back. He clambers to pick it up, heart in his throat, and when he answers, "Hello?" he's breathing so hard his voice is practically unrecognizable.  
  
"Andrew?"  
  
"Yeah – yes, yes, it's me!" Swallowing, he sits up against his headboard and bites his knuckle. "Hi."  
  
"Were you sleeping?"  
  
"No! I was, uh, just reading and the phone scared me, I'm sorry. Hi. Um, how – how are you?"  
  
"Right," Jesse says, sounding completely unconvinced. "Yeah, I'm all right. I just got back from the library. I was held up. Sorry I made you stay up so long."  
  
Before he can think his words through, Andrew says, "Oh, no, it's ok! I don't really sleep much anyway." He claps his hand over his forehead dramatically as soon as he's done talking.  
  
"You don't? I'm pretty sure that's not good for you."  
  
"No, it's not. I just don't really have time for it. So many books and lines to read and I'm always distracted and –"  
  
"It's not because of me, is it?"  
  
"No! No, it's not because – I mean, why would you even think that?"  
  
"I mean, I don't know." Jesse trails off and Andrew chews the inside of his cheek nervously, waiting for him to finish. "I just thought that with, um, you know – actually, you know what? That's ridiculous, so don't even worry about it."  
  
"Oh, um. Ok. Well." Sighing, Andrew rubs the bridge of his nose. He's actually glad they're not doing this on their computers because his lie would be so incredibly blatant if they were looking at each other. There are these, like, semi-permanent circles under Andrew's eyes now that are only covered up by extreme amounts of stage makeup and even in dim lighting, Jesse would be able to notice them. He's got hawk vision or something and that would definitely not escape his notice.  
  
"So, it's been a long time. How are things in London?"  
  
He bites his lip to stop himself from saying "miserable without you" and says instead, "They're good. Normal. Just rehearsals and classes. Some trips to museums I've been to a hundred times. What about you? How are your classes?"  
  
"Oh, they're classes."  
  
Andrew can't help but snort. "Yeah, I figured. You signed up for some British history classes, didn't you?"  
  
"I did. About the Reformation and one called The British Atlantic World." Jesse makes this sound that's like a cross between a snort and a disapproving hum. "Also taking an East Asian Geography class and one about Eastern Europe, too."  
  
"Sounds challenging."  
  
"It's what I get for being in so many departments at once, I guess."  
  
"At least you're going to be an Honors student next semester, right?"  
  
"Yeah, um, I'm supposed to be. I haven't done as well as I should have this semester, though, so I don't know if my GPA will be high enough to qua –"  
  
"It will be. You always worry about pointless things, Jesse. You know you're brilliant and you're going to be selected and maybe you'll even win that award too."  
  
"I don't know, maybe."  
  
"If I were home, I would slap some sense into you right now for –"  
  
"Well, you're not, so it doesn't matter. No point wasting your breath wishing for things you can't do."  
  
Andrew pulls his hand away from his face and straightens his spine, furrows his brow. He blinks a few times, hoping if he does it enough he'll be able to see what he said wrong _now_. But after a couple of seconds he thinks he may have finally figured out Jesse's thought process. "Wait, Jesse, what is this really about?"  
  
"What is what really about?"  
  
He huffs. "Did you break up with me because I wasn't there?"  
  
Jesse sputters, "Wh – what, _no_ , that's absurd. I wouldn't – that's not why, Andrew, you were the one who –"  
  
"I don't care how many times you say it, Jesse, but I didn't ever tell you I wanted to break up with you. That was all you."  
  
"You didn't _have_ to tell me anything, I am perfectly capable of reading into things myself."  
  
Sighing, Andrew shifts around until he's lying on his back. "Whatever. Tell me, did you think we couldn't work things out because I was thousands of miles away and couldn't be there for you anymore?"  
  
"No, Andrew, that's not why!"  
  
"What, then? Were you really that desperate to see someone else that you had to lie to end things between us?" A familiar sense of dread is building within his chest again, very rapidly, close to peaking now.  
  
"No! That was never my intention and – Wait. What do you mean, see someone else? I'm not seeing _any_ one else, that's a ridiculous assumption to make."  
  
"Justin told me you went out with this girl Anna a few times."  
  
"Justin? You listen to _him_ now? Justin doesn't know an apple from a pear and you're telling me you believe what he said?"  
  
Andrew shakes his head. "So, what, he imagined seeing you with Anna?"  
  
Jesse sighs. "No. But it wasn't like that. Anna's just a friend, Andrew. We never went on a date, ok? What does it even matter, though? We're not – you and I are not –"  
  
"Don't say it, Jesse, unless you really believe it."  
  
Jesse's silent for a few seconds.  
  
Andrew holds his breath and crosses his fingers.  
  
"I wanted to give you space, ok? I thought it'd be better for you if you could be in London and not have to worry about me anymore."  
  
"You're an idiot, did you know that?"  
  
"You just told me I was brilliant."  
  
Somehow, he manages a laugh that sounds so sincere he wants to cry. "But that was before you told me the most ridiculous thing you've said in your entire life."  
  
Jesse laughs too. "I didn't want to hold you back, ok?"  
  
"You don't hold me back, Jess. I – God, I couldn't do this if it weren't for you. I know that's sappy and overly romantic, but it's true."  
  
"I wish it weren't."  
  
"Why?" Andrew asks, biting his lower lip so hard he can taste blood on his tongue. This conversation is taking him from one extreme to the other so fast he thinks he might be experiencing whiplash.  
  
"Because I don't want you to depend on me."  
  
"I don't depend on you like that, Jess."  
  
"Not, like, _depend_ depend, just – fuck – I'm afraid, ok? I'm afraid you'll figure out some day that I'm not nearly as worthwhile as you think I am and that you'll break up with me and go off to Hollywood and forget I ever existed. So instead of letting that happen, I figured it'd be easier to do it myself, before you had the chance."  
  
"Jesse –"  
  
"I'm sorry," Jesse whispers, resigned and tearful and heartbroken. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I really thought I was doing you a favor."  
  
"Hey, hey, no, I get it, ok?" Andrew closes his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself into Jesse's room and wrap him so tightly in his arms that he wouldn’t be able to breathe, in a non-counterproductive way. "Please don't do me any extreme favors like that again, though?"  
  
"Ok."  
  
"Good." He swallows hard. "I miss you so much, Jesse."  
  
"Yeah, I do too."  
  
"Will you stop avoiding me now?"  
  
"I think so, yeah. I can do that."  
  
Andrew nods to himself and smiles. "Yeah? I'm glad. Thank you."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Jesse chuckles, "That's just like you to apologize for something that's not even your fault."  
  
Andrew hadn't realized how much he'd missed his laugh, actually genuine this time, not at all strained. Just hearing it makes him feel so much lighter. "It kind of is. I never meant to put pressure on you –"  
  
"You didn't."  
  
"Well, ok. But I'm still sorry." Yawning because he can’t stifle it anymore, Andrew stretches himself out on his mattress then curls into his side, pulling a blanket over himself with the phone pressed warmly against his ear. It's been weeks since he's felt so good and it's making him incredibly tired. "Do you still have your plane ticket for spring break?"  
  
"You're tired, you should go to bed."  
  
"No, answer the question first."  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"Are you going to use it?"  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
Andrew doesn't bother hiding the grin that spreads across his face. "You know I do, Jesse."  
  
"Then I will," Jesse says, and excited as he sounds, Andrew doesn't think he'll be able to make it through two more minutes of this phone call.  
  
"Fantastic." He yawns again. "I really want to talk to you some more but I'm falling asleep now."  
  
"I can tell."  
  
"Call me after work tomorrow?"  
  
"I'll call you before so you're not up late waiting."  
  
"Great. And Jesse?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I love you, ok?"  
  
A really long pause stretches between them. Andrew has to check his phone to make sure the call hasn't dropped. Eventually, Jesse says, voice steady and not at all tentative, "I do too – I love you."  
  
Andrew's pretty sure the way his chest tightens and his stomach turns is what people refer to as soaring. "Good night, Jesse," he whispers, throat closed up, then he sets his phone next to his pillow and finally falls asleep, the first time in months that he hasn't had to push away nagging worries.


End file.
